


Work From Home

by fightforyourwrite



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Babysitting, Cheese, Cooking, Gen, Pacific Northwest, Piano
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 19:58:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11238102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightforyourwrite/pseuds/fightforyourwrite
Summary: A pianist gets roped into babysitting a nine-year-old who lives in her building.





	Work From Home

**Author's Note:**

> Every time I write Nanaba in a modern AU, she always works a job that has something to do with music. I don't know why.
> 
> Work From Home now has a follow-up sequel, [On A Thursday In April](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11305389).

Historia’s mother trusted Nanaba enough to pick her kid up from school.

Nanaba didn’t mind, she was able to exploit the perks of her current _‘work from home’_ situation from time to time.

It wasn’t the worst favour Nanaba had been roped into.

It was actually far from worst. What other job would give her sixty dollars to sit in her apartment for three hours with a kid?

It wasn’t like she had any good reason to refuse the offer. Sixty dollars could easily put a few meals on her table or even keep her lights on.

Her career was currently in a slow slump. A lot of her days consisted of networking, practicing, playing in the evening, and making feeble attempts to compose. Though, if Gelgar was serious about forming a jazz quintet, Nanaba’s schedule would suddenly become a little more hectic.

Historia Reiss wasn’t much of a handful. When Nanaba picked her up, the girl had exited the private school’s building with a dull look on her face. She kept her hands grasped on the straps of her backpack and focused her gaze down on the ground during the entire walk back home.

Nanaba always thought that private school children were snooty and uptight, but Historia was far from it. Despite the fancy school uniform she wore, Historia was extremely silent, almost fragile.

There appeared to be a lot on her mind, which was just a little worrying considering the fact that Historia was nine.  

It didn’t take long to commute back to their apartment building. Historia kept to herself as she walked beside her babysitter. Nanaba didn’t force her to talk outside of a simple _‘hello.’_ Instead, she kept focused on the walk and remembered to grab Historia’s hand when they crossed the street.

Nanaba had to admit that her apartment wasn’t in the best shape.

Papers and books were spread everywhere, sheets of failed compositions were taped to the walls around her piano. She spent an hour cleaning up the place, sweeping the floor and recycling all the empty wine bottles she had put off throwing out.

Nanaba’s plans for the next three hours were simple. Helping with Historia with her homework or letting her watch TV seemed easy enough.

They would have stayed outside longer had it not been for the weather. It was sprinkling outside, a typical trait of the Pacific Northwest. It confined a lot of afternoon activities to the indoors. Though, if the weather got better, Nanaba would see if Historia wanted to go to the park.

At the moment, it was 3:43 and Nanaba was currently standing in her kitchen, making something that she was sure nine-year-olds enjoyed eating.

Historia sat at the kitchen island, having to boost the stool as high as possible to properly see. Her height made her seem way younger than she truly was. She could have passed for a kindergartener.

She definitely was a quiet kid, or maybe that was just the way she felt around Nanaba. She slowly worked on a half-full glass of water while her babysitter busied herself by cooking.

As a skillet heated on the stove, Nanaba slathered butter onto some slices of white bread. Once she set them on the cast iron cookware, she reached over for a grater and some blocks of cheese. She grated bits of gruyere and sharp cheddar onto the warming bread, refusing to stop until she was satisfied with the amount.

Nanaba had forgotten how much she liked cooking for other people.

It had been a while since she had company over. Every time she had to make something for someone, she liked to go a little further with it. Impressing people with her cooking skills always gave her a feeling of satisfaction, even if the audience she was currently entertaining couldn’t read past a third-grade level.

Nanaba waited until the layer of cheese started to bubble and soon put the remaining bread slices on top. Between flips with a metal turner, she would grate small amounts of gruyere and cheddar on the outside.

“Do you need help?” Historia asked, getting more and more entranced by the scent flowing into the air.

Nanaba shook her head, “No need. Just sit back.”

She finished in a few minutes. All it took to finish to the job was lifting the sandwiches onto the cutting board and slicing them in half with a paring knife.

She had made two grilled cheese sandwiches, one for her and one for Historia.

Nanaba separated them onto plates before walking over to the kitchen island.

“Bon appetit,” she declared, sliding one of the plates towards the elementary schooler.

Historia was impressed by how good the sandwich looked. Nanaba could see a look of astoundment in her eyes. She picked one half up and peered at it observantly.

“My mom cuts them diagonally.”

“Does she?” Nanaba asked. She picked up one half of her meal.

“She does, but this is okay too.” Historia moved on from the conversation topic after she took a bite of the sandwich. “It’s good.”

A small swell of pride filled into Nanaba’s chest. She gave Historia a small smile and a nod, “Thank you.”

“Are you a chef?” Historia asked. She took another bite.

Nanaba shook her head. “I wish. It’s just a hobby.”

“Then what are you?” Historia wondered, speaking with her mouthful.

“I’m a musician.” She pointed over to the corner of the living room where her signature instrument stood. “I play piano at a lounge downtown. My friend is also thinking of starting a jazz quintet. He plays the double bass.”

Historia turned her head for a brief moment to take a look at the electronic piano that stood in the corner. She then turned back, swallowed her bite, and spoke, “Cool. There’s a piano at school. It’s in the music room. We’re not allowed to touch it unless the teacher lets us. But we touch it anyways.”

“Do you play the piano?” Nanaba asked, wiping some grease off her hand with a napkin.

“I wish,” Historia admitted. “I play violin in orchestra at school. I hate it. I want to play the piano but my mom and dad won’t let me. Mom doesn’t care and dad says it’s a waste of time.”

“How about I teach you something?” Nanaba offered. She was quick to do so. She did need a way to preoccupy a nine-year-old for the next few hours. “After we eat, of course. They do say that musical training can make you smarter.”

“That’s a lie. We do orchestra on Mondays and it made no one in my class smart.”

Nanaba chuckled, almost choking on her mouthful of food in the process. She took a moment to properly swallow before responding. “Okay… Interesting observation. Do you want to learn or not though? We do have a lot of time on our hands.”

Historia nodded her head, “Oh, I’d like that a lot. Thank you.”

Nanaba found herself liking Historia Reiss more and more. At first, she thought they came from different walks of life.

Historia went to a lofty private school where the students dressed in blazers and loafers, Nanaba had barely survived twelve-years of underfunded public education.

Historia went between staying with her father uptown on the weekends and staying with her mother on weekdays, Nanaba spent most of her life raised by a single aunt.

They did share a similar pair of blue eyes and head of blonde hair, but Historia’s was neater and flowed down towards her back. Nanaba’s hair was cut short and grew in every direction possible.

But looking at her now, there were some similarities between the two. Nanaba could remember seeing herself in the same position Historia was when she was her age.

As a kid, she had longed for different life, something that had a stronger purpose to it. There was a feeling of emptiness inside of her, it morphed into an undeniable feeling of longing as she got older. Nanaba was lucky to have found hers when growing up.

She now hoped that maybe in the future, Historia would find hers as well.


End file.
